Untitled

Not what
But who
Is responsible
for this darkness
In the heart

I want to go back
But I know I’d hate it
Far more than this
A peaceful time, but dull

Life’s a waiting room they say
Except for the others
They seem content
What happened to me?
I wonder who I’d be today
If the darkness blew south
If the clouds didn’t graze my existence

Would I like him?
Would he like me?
Would I be happy,
or just fooling myself?

I keep myself propped up
With the belief that existence
Is done in takes
Each life, a director’s attempt
At getting the scene just right
At the end, we swap canisters
We start again
This time with the knowledge

Of what didn’t work
Of who we should avoid
Of where we shouldn’t go

Eventually, eventually
A film manifests
Crowds are drawn
Judgment is passed

But by whom
And why?
To what end?

Perhaps one day the audience will lose interest
And the theatre will close
And the ushers will sweep their last row
The projector will be switched off
And just like that
We’ll all be forgotten